Against the Frozen King
by SecretSanity
Summary: He doesn't want to hurt her. She's still smiling. Loss nearly destroyed them. Loss brought them together.  A WOTLK fanfic.
1. Prologue: Hearty Meals and Hearty Lovers

**Prologue: Hearty Meals and Hearty Lovers**

Relunaara sipped at her Honey mint tea, her Draenei eyes hovering over her two closest friends as they enjoyed a warm dinner albeit the unforgiving cold outside the barracks. She giggled as the thin tentacles from behind her ear came into contact with the tea's steam. The short warmth made her feel comfortable, safe.

"Amazing, huh?" she spoke, taking a bite out of her Mead basted Caribou steak.

Doran, her warrior friend, raised a curious Night Elven brow, while Glanar, another warrior of Draenei descent, continued to stuff his mouth with food. Rel chuckled at the gluttonous Glanar, who flashed her with a cheeky grin.

"What's so amazing?" asked Doran, putting down his fork.

Rel glanced around the barracks' cafeteria, pursing her lips at all the brave, hearty soldiers. "You're all riding to battle tomorrow, and yet when it comes to food everyone seems to forget that there was even a war at all."

And that was sufficiently true. The barracks' cafeteria was so alive and filled with cheer that someone could easily mistake it for a victory party. But this was what was so admirable with the Alliance; besides their honor and valiance, they've got real heart.

Glanar wiped his mouth clean with the back of his palm. "Meal time is the soldier's only paradise in war. He might as well enjoy it!"

"True," Rel chortled, but she quickly lost her smile. With a downward glance, she spoke to her friends again. "Still, I can't help but be worried for you guys. Angrathar's as good as unassailable."

"Highlord Bolvar doesn't seem to think so," said Doran. "Nor does our Horde-" and the night elf's face twitched, "-allies."

Glanar smiled. "We'll be fine. This army's the best the Alliance has ever assembled, and if anything does happen, the reserves," and he leaned in closer, "that's you by the way, would definitely save our asses."

Doran sighed amusedly. "Glanar, I'd bet that your ass is the only one that's going to need saving tomorrow."

"Oh, we'll see, Elf. We'll see," Glanar chortled right before putting his attention back to his food. She liked that about him, his seemingly carefree attitude.

"I'll be waiting for good news then," said Rel.

They were enjoying their food when a Human soldier barged in on the far side of the meal place, panting and dripping in sweat. "Urgent news! Eighth Company's being called for! Now!"

Rel's face dissolved into a frown. "Looks like you'll be moving earlier than expected…"

"Don't worry. We'll tear down that gate," Doran reassured her. He smiled as he stood and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "…You might want to practice your spells though. Glanar's going to need a lot of healing once we're through."

But Glanar wasn't listening; he had already left his seat.

* * *

"Isn't it a little early for the Kor'kron to move out?" Sethras' fel green eyes hovered over Allandra as she checked her bags and equipment. He couldn't help but worry every time her unit would be called out to battle.

Allandra fixed the sword on her waist and secured the bags on her windrider. She glanced at the rogue watching her and smiled. "I'm a little confused myself, Seth, but orders are orders. We'll see each other again soon enough."

"If I hear any bad news, I don't care who tries to stop me, I'll fly in there and-"

"You know the risks I'm taking, Seth. A rogue should know better than anyone else," she came up to him and tightly hugged him, resting her blonde head on his shoulder. He was so tall. "I'll be fine."

Seth smiled. "A hug's all I get?"

Allandra flicked the rogue's nose with her index and giggled. "I wasn't finished," and she leaned in and kissed him.

"I'll join you as soon as I finish up here," he said as they broke off. He gave her another peck on the lips.

"Razgor's still making you do his jobs, huh?"

Seth smirked. "He knows rogues get the job done right."

She pulled away from his embrace and mounted her windrider. It growled and shook its head.

"Or he's really just a lazy bum," Allandra chortled. She gave him one final grin and beckoned her windrider forward. "I'll try not to kill too much and leave some for you. Tell Durn I've already left."

Seth took a few steps back. "I don't even know where he is," he chuckled.

The blood elf couple shared one final goodbye before parting ways, for now. Allandra joined the other Kor'kron soldiers while Sethras went back into the hold to sharpen his daggers. Come to think of it, Razgor _did_ seem like a pretty lazy bum.


	2. Chapter 1: The Battle of Angrathar

**Chapter 1: Battle of Angrathar the Wrathgate**

Doran slammed his shield unto the ghoul, sending its jaw flying across the battleground. He parried another one of its wild swipes and wheeled around, slicing off the ghoul's head. To his left, Glanar swung his massive axe across three undead, chopping them in half.

"Three at once, Doran! And you call yourself a tank?" Glanar shouted as he continued to cleave through the battlefield. Doran simply smirked. He was never one to be drawn by Glanar's boasts.

Doran yelled, taunting an abomination from afar. It lumbered towards him with weapons raised, roaring in madness. He blocked the swipe of its axe, sidestepped, and plunged his sword deep into its stomach. He parried another attack and sliced its hand off with deadly precision. From behind him, Glanar charged, knocking the abomination off its feet. Doran took advantage; he leapt and landed a stab on the abomination's head, ending it.

Further up the battlefield, Highlord Bolvar charged into battle, knocking a ghoul down with his shield and slicing a skeleton in half with his sword. Doran and Glanar looked at their commander with awe, reveling in his supreme skills.

The Alliance continued to push through. Doran kept reminding himself that every undead slain brought all of them closer to securing the Wrathgate. He rallied his brethren with a commanding shout and pushed forward to the Highlord's position.

The ground began to shake and Angrathar rumbled. The Wrathgate's teeth opened and out came charging giant, frozen men. They roared in a language neither Doran nor Glanar have ever heard off. Many of their brethren froze in fear, but the two warriors steeled their resolve.

"Fight on, brothers!" yelled Highlord Bolvar, running headstrong into combat. His soldiers charged with him.

Doran nearly broke his wrist as a giant mace bashed unto his shield. "What're these things?" he asked Glanar.

Glanar slammed his axe unto one of the giants' backs. It sunk deep, and Glanar soon found that it had gotten stuck. "Vrykul!" the Draenei yelled, trying to kick his weapon off the struggling Vrykul. "They're called Vrykul!"

Doran rolled to his left as a Vrykul axe chopped down on his previous position. He threw his sword at the giant who Glanar's axe was stuck in, and pierced its heart. It stumbled and dropped dead on the ground. Glanar wedged his axe free off the giants' back, and tossed Doran back his sword.

"Thanks!" Doran uttered, catching his sword and slicing off a Vrykul hand.

Doran didn't want to face it, but ever since the giants came out, their forces were slowly getting massacred. It wasn't long until the Vrykul began to push Highlord Bolvar and the alliance forces back. They were losing this fight.

And then the Horde came. Orcs, Blood elves, Tauren; The Horde soldiers rode into battle with their wolves and savage weaponry. Saurfang the Younger led them, and no sooner did he engage the enemy. Both Alliance and Horde commanders fought side by side, Saurfang dominated with his axe, and the Highlord prevailed with wit and tactic.

Doran felt strangely thankful for the Horde's timely reinforcements. A blood elf woman rolled in front of him and parried an axe that would have cut off his head. He swallowed his pride. "Thanks… I am very grateful for your assistance," he said in Orcish – horribly rusty Orcish.

The Blood elf chuckled and leaped towards another Vrykul, cutting off its head at the peak of her jump. She landed gracefully with a smirk on her face. To Doran's surprise, she replied in Darnassian: "It is my duty, night elf. And you're Orcish is terrible."

Doran chuckled in the midst of the battle. He was about to reply when he noticed Glanar to his right. The Draenei warrior's arm was bleeding, but it didn't seem to hamper him at all. Doran smiled and went back to the fight.

Allandra gave a hearty sigh at the sudden camaraderie she felt towards the night elf. Today, the only enemy was the scourge. She left the night elf warrior's side and found more Vrykuls to fight. Unlike most warriors, she didn't fight with brute strength, but with speed and precision – a trait of Sethras that had rubbed off on her. Her stabs often pierced vital organs, and her leaps and somersaults were flawless to the point that they could be considered art.

The combined forces of the Horde and the Alliance soon gained the upper hand. The Vrykul fell little by little. Bolvar and Saurfang both led their forces with merciless ferocity and efficiency. Half an hour of fighting later, the scourge was defeated, and the expeditionary forces gathered at the foot of the Wrathgate, their commanders at the very front.

Saurfang glanced at his Alliance counterpart and nodded stiffly, but Bolvar was solid as a rock.

The Highlord stepped forward. "Arthas! The blood of your father! Of your people! Demand justice!" Doran and Glanar looked on as their commander taunted the Lichking. Anger was beginning to well up inside them; a burning desire for swift justice began to consume their hearts.

"Come forth, coward!" The Highlord continued, "And answer for your crimes!"

And then everything was still. Silence fell like a blanket over the expeditionary forces, and every second that passed made them more restless, more bloodthirsty. Doran had begun to think that the Lichking was too afraid to face them all. Would he really come out to fight an entire army alone?

The loud rumbling of the Wrathgate answered his question. The gate opened just as it had when the Vrykul came out – slowly, menacingly. Seconds later, the Lichking stepped out; the rune blade, Frostmourne, in his hands.

Doran and Glanar looked at each other, and then focused their stares to the man that started the Scourge. The Lichking's glowing, icy eyes pierced right through Doran. He could feel Arthas' cold touch clawing at his heart. Suddenly, it felt abnormally colder.

"You speak of justice?" The Lichking spoke; his voice echoing with the laments of a thousand anguished souls, "Of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave… And the true meaning… of fear!" And as he spoke, an army of undead rose from the corpses behind him. Nearly every ghoul and skeleton they had killed had just come back to life.

"Enough talk! Let it be finished!" Saurfaung roared, charging towards the Lichking. They clashed, and Saurfang fell to the Lord of the Dead, his weapon shattered. Frostmourne sliced through his body like a hot knife through butter.

The Orc stumbled to the ground with a groan none of his allies had ever heard him mutter. The Lichking ran the tip of his blade across the dead Orc's chest, claiming his soul for the unending hunger of his sword.

Most of the horde gasped in shock, but not Allandra. She wasn't shocked; she was afraid. Their commander, the mightiest of them all, fell to the Lichking with one blow. What more a chance did they stand? She wanted to call out to Sethras, to retreat back into his arms where she knew she would feel safe, but she found herself voiceless and with frozen feet.

Highlord Bolvar drew his sword and adopted a stance more suitable for battle. "You will pay… for all the lives you've stolen… Traitor!"

But the Lichking was unaffected. He stepped over Saurfang's corpse and held Frostmourne at the ready. "Boldly stated, but there is nothing you can-"

An explosion at the back ranks rocked the ground. Green smoke enveloped the soldiers. Doran felt his skin sting as he came into contact with the plague. His lungs burned and his eyes began to bleed. The pain washed over him, he ran away, a coughing Glanar tailing him. He looked around to see Orcs and men dropping to their knees in excruciating pain, their flesh slowly dissolving into shapeless goo.

"Glanar! Run! We need to get out before-"

He couldn't spare Glanar a glance, but felt the Draenei's hand push him with enough force to knock him out of the smoke. He stumbled onto the snow, soiling it with his blood. He was in so much pain; parts of his skin had already melted away. He pushed himself up with his sword and spun around, but Glanar was already on the ground, dead. He wanted to cry out in agony, but the pain left him with barely enough energy to walk.

Allandra ran as fast as she could, but the damage had already been done. She lost control over her hands, and soon found them missing. It was as if she was… melting. Another explosion came from before her, and she was overcome with pain. The plague swept over her, and she died.

Doran took a few steps away from the bulk of the army. He watched as a forsaken stepped into view from the cliffs to the army's right, catapults rolling slowly to the edge from behind him. The forsaken was saying something, uttering unto the expeditionary forces and the Lichking some sort of message.

"Fall back! Fall back!" Doran heard Highlord Bolvar's voice, but more explosions came and the Highlord's orders were soon drowned out.

The plague engulfed the entire army. Doran heard screaming and gurgling as he ran from the carnage. The Forsaken attacked them; the Horde had betrayed them.


	3. Chapter 2: Vengeance on the move

**Chapter 2: Vengeance on the move**

She was dead. Allandra was dead.

Sethras shoved the rest of his things into his bag, stashing extra bandages, potions, and a few battle elixirs. He scowled, realizing that he had forgotten to renew the poisons on his blade. He dug his hand deep inside the bag clutter, pulling out a vial of vile green liquid.

"You're being too brash! Stop and think!" came a voice from behind him. It spoke in Orcish.

Sethras glanced behind him, spotting the Orc hunter, Durn, approaching him with his pet, a rabid wolf named Mira. The glance was short lived as Sethras pulled out his daggers and began the careful process of applying the vile poison. Even though they only locked eyes for a second, Durn felt the burning hatred piercing through Sethras' eyes.

Durn crouched next to him. "You can't kill him alone."

Sethras gave no reply; his eyes squinting as he slowly began apply poison to his daggers. Poisoning a rogue's daggers was such a tedious and demanding task, some people would even dare call it a most unique form of art.

"How're you going to get inside in the first place?" Durn wasn't giving up. He made a promise to Allandra, and he wasn't about to break it now. "Did you think about that?"

Sethras kept his eyes squinted, tilting the vial ever so slowly. "Horde and Alliance are mounting their own assaults. I'll use them for cover."

"What about Putress' minions?"

The arrogant huff Sethras let out went well with the rage in his eyes. "I'll deal with them."

"If you get trapped?"

"Smoke bombs."

"If you run out of smoke bombs?"

"I'll deal with them."

Durn placed a hand on Sethras' daggers, careful not to touch the poisoned parts, and pushed them down, garnering the blood elf's full attention, and perhaps anger. "What if I stop you?"

Sethras pulled his dagger away, sheathing it on his waist and grunting a cuss word. "You can't stop me. How can you just sit here all day while Allandra's killers are out there alive?" his eyes flared up even more, it was surprising that Durn simply didn't burst into flames from the way Sethras' eyes stared him down. "She was your friend too! What're you going do about it? Nothing! Fuck Hellscream, Fuck the Kor'kron, Fuck Northrend! I'm heading to the Undercity and I-_will_-kill-Putress."

Durn's face crunched into a snarl. His wolf in turn adapted a more defensive stance. "Listen to yourself. That doesn't sound like the man Allandra loved!"

"That man is gone! It died with her in the Wrathgate!" and Sethras stood up, swung his bag unto his shoulder, and began walking off. He was stopped when Mira run in front of him, cutting him off and staring at him with an aggressive growl.

"If your wolf isn't out of my way in five seconds, I will kill it."

"Don't let your anger consume you, Sethras…"

"I'm doing this for her, Damn it! FOR HER!" Sethras said, not bothering to face him, but the way his hands curled into fists allowed Durn a quick glance at the sorrow and rage that had built up inside his once cheery friend.

Durn stomped over to him and pulled him around, waving his wolf away. "For her? Or for yourself?"

Sethras pushed the Orc away. "For both of us," and then he walked away. Durn didn't bother to stop him, instead, he grabbed his own bags and equipment, and ran after his broken friend. If he had seen Sethras' face, he would've had no doubts…

…Putress was going to die.

* * *

Relunaara sat beside the unconscious Doran. When she received word that adventurers had found him unconscious in the tundra, Relunaara herself rode to retrieve him. She had long prayed this moment would never come. Her best friend was dead, and her other friend lay lifeless in Valiance Keep's infirmary. It was too much to bear. Relunaara began to cry.

"Just received word, Rel," said Victor, one of her fellows in the troop reserves. "There's been a coup in the Undercity."

Relunaara's eyes shot to the human priest, straightening up as she became aware of Victor's presence. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and sighed.

Victor nodded, reaching for the cabinets and pulling out a mortar and pestle. "Turns out the Horde didn't betray us, at least not the entire faction."

Relunaara sniffled. Her eyes lingered on Doran and his injuries, judging whether he could live through it or not. His skin was burned, part of his left ear had been eaten off, his right eye was gone, and he was barely breathing. She didn't want to consider the possibility of him dying, but it just wouldn't leave her mind.

Victor noticed this, and flashed a smile through his beard. "He'll make it through," he said, pointing the pestle to Doran, "This New Plague is unbelievable, but he's as tough as a titan. Don't worry."

Relunaara wasn't convinced. She had always been the optimist, but with things looking so grim, she couldn't seem to hold on to any positivity at all. "They were getting slaughtered while I was sitting here doing nothing," her eyes drifted down to her lap, "I… I should've asked to be transferred to Eight Company!"

"And die too?" Victor pulled an herb pouch from inside his robes and began fiddling with the knots and strings. Although it seemed that his attention was on opening it, his eyes were locked unto his Draenei friend. "It's not your fault, Rel. Stop blaming yourself. Not one of us could've done anything."

Relunaara pulled her eyes away from Victor. She's never felt so useless her entire life. Her training had been focused on the Holy part of Priesthood so she couldn't fight or take revenge, and this New Plague was so foreign to her that her spells could only do so much.

"If you want to help, I'm all out of Goldclovers," he told her, shaking the pouch to show that it's empty.

Her eyes narrowed at such a task. "I'm not an errand girl," she said, still sniffing a little from her crying.

Victor let out a dry chuckle. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just that sitting here crying the whole day can't be good, and you could use the fresh air."

She tried to argue, but later decided that Victor was right. She was better off doing something productive than grieving all day. Still, it made her feel guilty. She wondered if choosing not to grief was, in some paradoxical way, a betrayal to her friends, more so to Glanar. She pushed the thoughts away, convincing herself that the cheery oaf would rather see her looking for herbs than crying.

She passed a couple of other reserve soldiers on the way out. They gave her shocked looks. Just how long had she been in the infirmary? She had lost tracked, but was certain it was for more than a day. She did her best to ignore them and made her way to Valiance Keep's Stables. The Stable Mistress eyed her with the same look the soldiers wore.

"Finally came out, eh?" the dwarf said, pulling her eyes away from Rel and walking into the stable to Rel's Elekk, Mackie.

"Hello, Celidh," Rel followed her inside, "Victor thinks I need the fresh air."

Celidh untied the Elekk's reins and handed it to Relunaara, who thanked her and gently caressed her mount's trunk before mounting it and setting off. Before she had gone far however, the dwarf's voice drew her to a stop.

"I'm sorry about Glanar. H'was a good man, err- Dranei," Celidh said, perhaps pitying her, or perhaps trying to be polite. Either way, Relunaara was thankful, but being reminded of Glanar's death made her tear up.

"He was," she said to the stable mistress, fighting the urge to just breakdown and cry. She hated how she was such a cry baby. She wanted to be strong, useful. Putting on a more determined face, she rode her mount out of the Keep.

The Tundra air calmed her down. The weather was warmer today, and not the usual biting cold of Northrend. She imagined just how cold it must be in the Wrathgate, on the very foot of Icecrown. To die in a horrible, icy place froze her heart. How Doran and the rest of the eight company withstood the cold was an enigma in itself.

She strode through the plains eyeing shrubbery and patches of tall grass. Although Relunaara wasn't a very capable fighter, she took pride in her skills as both an Herbalist and an Alchemist. She was one of the few who could tell the slightest difference between two seemingly identical herbs. Spotting a few Goldclover shrubs in the distance, she rode forward and got to work.

"…twist, pull, and scoop," she muttered to herself.

She was one of those people who would completely lose themselves in their professions. Whenever she was working, everything around here just seemed to melt out of her mind. She had gathered more than a handful of Goldclovers when the unmistakable sounds of battle finally pierced through her awareness. Metal clashing, spells blasting, yelling and screaming… there was no mistaking it.

The sounds came from the other side of the hill that shaded her. There were people there that needed help. Without second thoughts, she dismounted, muttering for Mackie to stay put while she was away.

Hooves were great for climbing. Any non-hoofed race wouldn't have been able to match the speed Relunaara was running with up the hill. She came to a halt when the scenes of battle roared before her.

There were three people, and a score of undead.

A human warrior was locked in battle with some ghouls, three crypt fiends, and a zombie or two; a Draenei mage was firing Frostbolts a few yards back; and a gnome rogue was juggling three zombies at once.

It was the rogue's cry of pain as it flew through the air, hit by a vicious punt by one of the zombies, which shocked Relunaara back into awareness. Her mind came to grips with the reality of fighting, and her body began pumping molten hot adrenaline. This was it! This was her chance to be of some _real_ use!

She channeled her inner light, feeling it flow through her body and out through her hands as she tossed the rogue a quick heal. The rogue pushed himself up, feeling his wounds patching up, and with a half surprised, half relieved face, turned to his helper's direction with a nod of thanks.

But Relunaara didn't have time for formalities. Tossing another small heal, this time at the mage, she rushed down the hill, placing a holy shield and a blessing of fortitude on the warrior as soon as she was close enough. The warrior disposed of a ghoul and turned his head to her direction, surprised at the sudden assistance. He didn't have time to acknowledge her though, as a crypt fiend stabbed a bladed leg at him. It bounced off the shield, but shook him well enough to knock him down.

A frost bolt darted past her, slamming into a ghoul she failed to notice was charging towards her. The rogue reappeared behind the chilled undead, slashing it into pieces, but a few more was creeping from behind him. Relunaara knew little offensive spells, and fired off her most basic one, a holy smite. She smiled in satisfaction as one of the ghouls twitched and stumbled from the holy spell. The other ghoul swung its claws forward, but the rogue vanished just in the nick of time. Relunaara breathed a sigh of relief and returned her gaze to the warrior, who was now disposing of the final three crypt fiends with some help from the frost mage.

The battle went on for a little longer, and although there wasn't any spoken agreement of alliance between Rel and the adventurers, she fought with them with such ferocity that one would've thought they were a band of old, experienced fighters. It was a good outlet. If the adventurers felt the anger in her heals, then they made no indication whatsoever.

When the fighting was over, nothing else remained but the dismembered carcasses of the undead and the lingering stench of blood and death in the wind. It was only then that Rel realized just how much she had given in that fight. She was panting hard, and with a groan, collapsed unto the tundra grass on her bottom. The gnome rogue sneaked into her view, looking at her with a face made mischievous by his green moustache.

"You were great!" he said in a voice equally quirky. "Thanks, eh?"

Relunaara was still panting when the mage peered into her view from the other side. He towered over her, and had such a stern disposition that Relunaara was afraid he'd be too stiff and shatter into many pieces.

"We were ambushed by the scourge," the mage said to her. His voice reminded her of Glanar, but the seriousness flowing with it was distinguished. He sounded almost regal. "If you did not stumble upon us, priest, there was no telling how that fight would have went."

"He probably would've died!" said the rogue, pointing a finger at the mage. The mage scowled.

"Heh!" came the human's voice, walking towards her with his shield still in hand. "Could've handled them all myself, but thanks anyway!" and he flashed her a grin.

Relunaara took a moment to catch her breath, then pushed herself up to her feet.

"I was… Uhmm…" she paused. The fatigue befuddled her a little, and she took longer to gather her thoughts. "Y-you're welcome."

The rogue stalked around her feet, looking up at the 'giant, hoofed creature' with a wry smile that seemed to be plastered to his face. The Draenei mage on the other hand, regarded her with a firm nod.

"We were on our way to Valiance Keep. We planned to help the human king in retaking the fallen city when we were ambushed by the scourge," explained the Draenei. He bent down, picked up her staff, and handed it to her. She took it with a murmured thank you.

"We could use a healer like you!" said the gnome, sheathing his daggers. "You're good!"

Relunaara looked to the warrior. He shrugged. "Prob'ly make the job easier, yeah."

"My name is Salen. The rogue is Willy, and the human's name is Rowen," the mage brushed his facial tendrils aside as if fixing it. "I think I speak for all of us in asking you to help us assist King Varian in retaking the Undercity and avenging the atrocious events in the Wrathgate."

"If everything goes well, we might consider you as a permanent addition!" The gnome patted at the highest point he could reach on her body, her knees.

The warrior shrugged. "Only if you like, of course."

"I…" Relunaara trailed off, considering the possibilities. If she left with them, she would be leaving Doran all alone! Not that she didn't trust the priests and medics looking after the Wrathgate survivors, but she just couldn't bear leaving her only remaining friend! What if something were to happen? She'd be a continent away!

Then again… The Undercity was already infamous by itself. A chance to fight inside it, with King Varian, and for a goal as noble as justice was but a once in a lifetime opportunity! This was really her greatest chance of getting out of the reserve troops and actually doing something to help the world! Not to mention it would mean bringing Glanar's murderers to justice.

The Draenei mage tapped his staff on the ground. It must've hit a pebble as it produced a hard, clinking sound. "We won't hold it against you if you say no. We're already quite grateful for your assistance just now. But we do want you to consider the opportunity, and the benefits it could do both us and you."

Relunaara's grip on her own staff tightened. "I'll do it."


End file.
